


Secondhand Daydreams

by Inky_Scribbles



Category: RWBY, Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Family, Gen, Human AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-08 23:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19878055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky_Scribbles/pseuds/Inky_Scribbles
Summary: Virgil walked into something he really wants to walk out of.Roman wants to escape his past and bring forth a better future, for faunus and humans alike.Logan wants to help people and fit the shoes that have been left for him, no matter who would like to hold him back.Remy never wanted this life, but here he is. At this point, what's the point in doing anything about it?Patton... he just really wants to help his friends.Somehow, the five of them are going to have to make it work if they want to make it to the end.





	Secondhand Daydreams

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [PRVL Volume 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13515702) by [AuthorAlex97 (Sweetie_Curfy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetie_Curfy/pseuds/AuthorAlex97). 



> Ok so a couple of notes:
> 
> First of all, this work was inspired by a wonderful series (PRVL) which you should totally check out! It's a lot better than mine, I promise. Obviously, this is going to be it's own thing seperate from that, but I just wanted to put it out there.
> 
> Second, please keep in mind that **there is a panic attack in this chapter**. I was unsure if I should put that in there, but considering how the thoughts previous to that went, I thought it would be worse not to? Like, not showing the consequences of things that are bad is bad reputation, I think, but I tried to make it as non-graphic as possible. The thing that really tells you that it's a panic attack is the help he recieves after.
> 
> I will be putting warnings like this in each chapter it's necessary for (hopefully that won't be many). I chose to leave the archive warning like that because it felt like this fic wouldn't fit any of them, but also... it's most definitely teen. I think. Pretty sure. Tell me what you think?
> 
> Third, I only have a vaguely written out plot, and I am also drowning in wips. Idk how many people are gonna read this fic and want to stick around, but don't expect chapters to be quick, but I'll do my best :)

The airport in Vale is a squat little thing—or, well, not exactly little, but compared to the girth of the seaport warehouses to the south (which, by the way, smell absolutely horrendous), this is nothing. It’s to be expected, since most people prefer sea travel, and those who don’t probably can’t afford a flight anyway.  


Which is one of the reasons why (and keep in mind that Patton is mincing his words here), upon catching sight of the _massive_ airship he’s about to step into, there’s a small moment where he has to double take, because he had thought that it was a part of the building. It is not.  


On any normal day at the airport docks, Patton would have been fine gasping in ill-restrained surprise, for the dramatics (but mostly because he knows his younger siblings love it). That is because on any normal day at the airport docks, the area is pretty much entirely deserted. Today is not “any normal day”, though.  


Today, the docks are swarming with huntsmen and huntresses in training, weapons gleaming, glinting, shining, sparkling or otherwise being rather eye-catching. Looking, chill, looking fabulous, looking absolutely gorgeous in that battle-skirt. At one point, he is pretty sure he saw a flaming sword. _A flaming sword._  


Point is, they are all very calm and confident-looking, while Patton is followed by a veritable horde of starry-eyed children, plus two harried parents on the side. There are other families here, too, of course (who wouldn’t want to see off their kids when they’re on their way to one of the best huntsmen academies on the planet?), but none of them seem quite so distressed for their first “bird leaving the nest” type situation. It probably doesn’t matter too much, but he doesn’t want to look too silly in front of so many people.  


“Are you sure you’ve got everything?” his mom asks, one arm around Scarlette and the other fixing her ponytail. “You didn’t forget lunch, did you?”  


“No, mom, I’ve got everything. Even if I didn’t, we put most of it in cargo already, so there’s no point in worrying about it now.”  


Mama glances at him sideways, leaning on her cane when someone stumbles into her. “ _Did_ you forget lunch?”  


“No, I’ve got it, don’t worry.” He’s actually not sure if he remembered it or not, but he does remember digging around in his spare pockets for space, so he must have. Probably. Mama rolls her eyes, which means she definitely knows what he’s thinking.  


They stop by one of the less crowded ramps leading up into what he’s going to assume are the passenger compartments. He hugs all five of his little sisters and brothers, and gets about his bodyweight’s worth of kisses, before he finally turns to his parents, who have both conjured up proud grins for him.  


“Are you sure you’ll be able to handle the shop alright? The White Fang a couple months ago—” He doesn’t regret the person he met that night on the late shift, but if it had been anyone else—if it had been one of the kids—  


Mom waves him off. “We’ll be fine. We fixed up the aisles, everything’s back to normal. And besides, we’ve got little Blu to help us if we’re ever in trouble—”  


“I’m not little!”  


“—so it’ll be alright. Don’t worry about the shifts, either, I think it’s about time Vert got into the family business.” She smiles at Vert when she preens at the news. “Don’t worry. Go chase your dreams, sweetie-Pat.”  


“That’s not even close to “sweetie-pie”, dear,” Mama teases. “But she’s right, Pat. Nothing’s going to fall apart just because you’re not here. Give us more credit than that.”  


Mom pats _Aureum Caeruleo_ at his hip, and his hand goes to meet hers over the top of it. “Just stick close to Caeruleo, and don’t forget to call us anytime you need us. We’ll help you out of any tight spot we can.” Patton looks at Caeruleo, then at her. Smiles.  


“I know, Mom. Love you,” he kisses her cheek.  


He gets a kiss each off Mama and Mom, and then another round of hugs and kisses from Blu, Vert, Scarlette, Luteus, and Ombre, and then hugs from his parents again, and then, finally, he’s on the airship. On the way to Beacon academy.

* * *

Nights in Beacon are not as cold as he expects, Roman reflects, forehead pressed into the glass of one of the ballroom windows, which are wider and larger than he’s ever seen. The ceiling is tall, and even though the people who look up their must be few and far between, there’s still so much detail etched into the beams and higher walls that he could stare for days and miss countless little things hidden away up there.  


In essence, it’s almost exactly how he expected it to be, before he came to Beacon. And that’s… a little terrifying.  


So he looks out the window, and feels the cool press of the glass, and watches his breath fog over until half of what he can see is a frosted version of the world outside. He’s not at the centre window, so mostly he can see only the trees, and what must be the distant Emerald Forest, not the wide courtyard with its statues and roads and arches and walls.  


It’s not that the agricultural district didn’t have windows. The greenhouses had to be made of something, after all, and the inspectors didn’t exactly want to walk into every single one of them, either. So glass seemed like the best option, aside from the obvious reasons.  


He remembers when he and Remus used to draw creatures and buildings from fairy tales and stories they’d heard from the other faunus, who’d visited the world around the district, including the other kingdoms, into the fogged-over glass. Roman liked to draw fairies and dragons, and castles and their ballrooms—just like the one he’s in now. Remus… well, he has an acquired taste in humour, if Roman is to put it lightly.  


But thinking of Remus is no good, now. He shouldn’t be introspecting! He’s in a real-life ballroom! He should be dancing around with some beautiful prince or princess, daringly romancing a roguishly handsome knight, or just talking the night away with someone whose eyes glitter and dance, whose smile breathes life into the dormant butterflies in his belly, whose hand glides just a tad too close to his to be purely one-sided—  


“Hey, goat-face!”  
Something ugly twists in his belly, clenches at his insides and ties them in a knot. He tries to breathe through it, because there’s nothing to fear here. Nowhere near everyone from his class in Signal got into Beacon, and he knows he saw at least Yang at the speech earlier today, so it’s got to be fine. They must be talking to someone else, because this isn’t Signal, and his horns are quite clearly not goat horns.  


But then someone pulls at his shoulder, and he turns to find a fairly handsome face before him. He’s wearing only sweatpants for sleepwear, but his hair is still in a little quiff, as if he hasn’t taken the gel out yet. “Hey, I’m talking to you,” he says, and his voice is light, as if he’s sharing a joke with someone. But that person definitely isn’t Roman.  


Even though this isn’t Signal, and he knows what he promised himself back then, if it ever were to happen again, but for some reason he feels frozen. It isn’t very prince-like at all.  


“Your horns are going to scratch the windows, goatie. I’d recommend you move.”  


His throat is dry. What he means to say is _hey, asshole, these are gazelle horns, and they were nowhere near the glass. Shut up and leave me alone._ What he actually says is… not that. “Well, I already put my stuff over here, so maybe—"  


“Really? I think you’re very much mistaken, there. See, I’m pretty sure that they made a couple marks,” he pulls forward a mace, and for a second the breath is stolen from Roman’s throat because he never expected it to go this far—and what will the others back home think if he gets killed on his first day? _Flumen Rubrum_ is on the other side of his sleeping bag, he can’t even defend himself, oh gods, oh gods—  


But the mace lands with a _dink _against the glass between his horns, just barely leaving a nick in his right. When Roman looks at the guy, he doesn’t seem quite so pretty anymore. His eyes are dark indigo, the kind of colour that fits perfectly into a rainbow on its own. But it looks grotesquely contorted with the way his arms fold into his mace, the way his lips twitch like this is _funny,_ like it’s a _joke._  
__

__He wonders what kind of person would laugh.  
_ _

__His body feels like it’s been filled with concrete. He feels a chill pass over him. He can’t move, he can’t speak. The most he can muster is a pathetic tremble, and it makes him angry because it’s as if he hasn’t been raised on this, as if he hasn’t trained in a huntsman academy for most of his primary years of education, as if he hasn’t experienced _worse_ — and the memory flashes before his eyes; fire devouring the tents, smoke clouding the sky, clogging the air like thick honey except disgustingly bitter and without any of the sweetness, screaming, running, trying to escape with Remus— Remus—  
_ _

__“Excuse me,” the fuzz in his ears fizzles with white noise between the sound of this new voice. _Please help_ , he wants to say, but nothing comes out. “But I’m fairly certain that is damage to school property and against the school rules. Being expelled on the first day would be quite embarrassing, don’t you agree?”  
_ _

__Vaguely, behind the guy, he sees someone in onesie step forward, one foot forward slightly, as if they’re perfectly relaxed. Actually, his voice sounds calm, too; it’s quite soothing. “As is threatening a fellow student, as that constitutes bullying. Also, those are clearly Thomson’s Gazelle horns, not goat horns.”  
_ _

__The guy leans back, pulling his mace with him. It catches on Roman’s nightshirt, but he barely registers. “What, are you a sympathiser?”  
_ _

__There’s a pause, as if this new person is adjusting themselves slightly. He pictures them shifting a pair of glasses, and wants to look up but his body won’t move. Honestly, what kind of hunter will he make? This isn’t how he wanted his first day to go. “Indeed. I sympathise with people. It is a natural human experience, necessary for making friends and socialising in general.” Uh… what? “Now, how about you move along now. Your sleeping area is in that direction.”  
_ _

__He must be pointing, because after a moment of what has to be shocked hesitation, the guy moves along. Finally, some air passes through into his lungs, and Roman drinks it in like it’s the nectar of gods.  
_ _

__A figure kneels down before him, probably the guy who helped him. Tentatively, he looks up, and he’s met with freshly combed hair and a very, very straight nose. And that is probably the wrong thing to focus on, but he’s feeling a little not-so-great right now, so it’s okay. He could really use a self-care bath right now, but all of his candles and bath bombs are in his suitcase, and he has no idea where that is, except maybe that it’s on the airship still.  
_ _

__“Hello,” he says.  
_ _

__“Hi,” Roman squeaks.  
_ _

__“My name is Logan Aegean,” Logan continues, seemingly unperturbed by that truly prodigious display of vocal interaction. His eyes are blue or brown, but with the light the way it is, it’s hard to tell. Roman isn’t sure if he’s too close or not. “You should keep breathing. Follow mine.”  
_ _

__And Roman does. And it helps, a little, but he still feels frazzled, like all his nerves are on edge and tingling away in anticipation of something that hopefully won’t happen. “I’m Roman. Uh, Prunus.”  
_ _

__“Alright. Roman, would you mind if I slept here tonight?” he gestures to the sleeping bag beside Roman’s, which had been empty before.  
_ _

__Roman musters a smile. “Sure.”_ _

____

* * *

Deep in the cascades of lower-class flats on the north-western border of the residential district, a wily snake flits across the roads, walking at a human pace, but always two steps ahead. He wears fashionable high-waisted jeans, and a casual jacket with pockets which are yellow on the inside. No one seems to notice him as he passes them by, partly because the street is half-empty, and partly because, for some reason, he always seems to fit in wherever he is.  


A faunus café approaches him quickly, and he crosses the road to head inside. A sign outside reads _Looking for baristas. Faunus employment only._ The scroll number underneath is underlined several times. It’s dark out, and the café is closed, but he pushes the door open, and the person behind the counter nods at him.  


He smiles a smile that has too many teeth to be genuine, and heads into the backroom. At first glance, it’s the average kitchen that a café might have, other than the small break area in the corner, but one glance is never enough to know the full reality of what you’re looking at.  


The snake pulls up the wooden panel on the floor, once used as a wine cellar when the building had been new, and disappears beneath it. As he does, his skin ripples like disturbed water, and scales begin to grow across his face.  


There are no lights in the new room, but he can see just fine, and clambers down off the ladder. On the far end, a table with a striped tablecloth sits with several papers on it and an inkwell with quills. A stack of boardgames sits almost as tall as the table next to it, although the pack of cards seems to be missing. The rest of the room is taken up by closely packed sleeping bags; some ratty, most new, and a few which are actually just two blankets sewn together.  


“Hey! Dean’s back!” the snake turns to a group of faunus curled onto a pile of sleeping bags, a hand of cards palmed close to each of them (except for Mallow, who prefers to watch).  


He smiles lazily. “What are you talking about? My name’s not Dean, it’s James.”  


A boy with eight eyes (six, now, but they don’t talk about that) rolls each of them and scowls. It’s hard to tell if it’s genuine or not, with that one. “That’s starting to get old.”  


“What is? I told you, my name is James.”  


“Yeah, and yesterday you were Septimus.”  


“Yesterday was yesterday, and today is today. But my name is James.”  


The six-eyed boy sighs and harrumphs back into a sleeping bag, accidentally revealing his hand to a smug-looking Mellow.  


“James” tugs off his jacket and hangs it with the other casual clothes. He pulls out a slip of paper from one of his pockets and throws it onto the table, then settles down next to Mellow. Her chewed ears flick at him briefly, then turn back to the game. It appears to be spoons.  


“So?” Indigo asks, after a quiet round where no one says anything.  


“So what?”  


She shifts, tucking Remus’ card into her own hand, then pulling a face and pushing it away. “When will our fearless leader be back?”  


“Adam? Oh, he’s here. Staving off negotiations with those dust shop robbery humans, I expect. They’ve been dogging him since he left the last Valean encampment.”  


“Popular guy.”  


“He’s powerful,” Indigo reminds. “That’s what they want. To use us.” She scowls, twisting her hands into her hair like she does whenever she’s frustrated. “As if the White Fang would let anything like that happen.”  


_They._ Humans.  


They don’t speak about it again after that.

**Author's Note:**

> Ha, bet yall are wondering where Virgil and Remy are at, huh?


End file.
